


16 47 80

by tyomawrites



Series: Numbers [2]
Category: Mayans M.C. (TV), Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: Armando Julito Cortez doesn't expect to be like his brother Sverri, doesn't expect to meet his future wearing a kutte of leather. But when Angel Reyes brings one of his friends into the club he bartends at, he doesn't expect the leather kutte and the look in those dark eyes to set his blood on fire.  He and his little brother might have a lot more in common after all.Set between chapters 3 and 4 of 12 27 80, Sverri's older brother Armando has a part time job outside Santo Padre, when he comes back home, he brings someone with him.





	1. Chapter 1

Armando Julito Cortez meets Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz when Angel introduces him. He knows Angel from a club scene, a BDSM club outside Santo Padre where he’d taken a part time job bartending. It’s the same _freak circle_ that Angel is a regular in. He’s not shy about what makes him a freak and neither is Angel, it’s the way they become quick friends, bond over the sinful, freaky things they get off to. Angel brings a friend with him to the club one night.

Coco, he calls himself when he shakes his hand over the bar. Coco is all sharp edges and glares despite the smile he slides onto his face. Armando sees the kutte around his shoulder and immediately facepalms, why someone would ever wear something that identifying in a place like this confuses him. Despite what he thinks about the move he’s immediately attracted to him, his eyes are dark and the way he holds his drink to his lips makes him want to drop to his knees and worship the man. He starts nibbling at his bottom lip as he watches Coco take in everyone around him.

There’s all kinds of people there, men, women, some women are on the couches present on the scene floor, other stages are occupied with both men and women. The stage closest to them has a skinny twink tied up, suspended as one of Armando’s coworkers drips wax across his shoulders and down his striped back.

He follows Coco’s eyes towards the boy, sees the deep breath that Coco takes before he takes another drink from the glass in his hands. He grins at Coco’s interest. His shift is about to end, as the clock ticks closer to ten and he knows it’s his turn to walk the floor. He slips his leather jacket over his shoulders, hops over an empty spot of the bar with a grin on his face the moment the second hand on the clock ticks over. His grin gets wider as Angel gets to embrace him properly, pulls him close and pats his back. Angel leads the both of them over to the closest stage first, where Coco’s face is flushed red.

Armando can see the boy tied up signalling with his hands from where they’re tied. He knows the boy, knows he means he’s done and his coworker will carry him down from the ropes and take him to one of the back rooms for some aftercare. As much as the scene tempts him, his attention is focused onto the the way Coco looks hungrily at the marks on the boy’s back.

The kutte on Coco’s back drags his attention away from the look in his eyes. Armando knows, knows who the Mayans are, his little brother told him all about the MC once he’d let it slip that he was taking a part time job. He pulls his sleeves up, folding them neatly to highlight his forearms as he steps over towards the stage with Coco and Angel. The fact that Angel and Coco are Mayans doesn’t bother him much, the fact that his baby brother has met Juice through something like that despite their circumstances gives him faith.

One of the regular girls comes up to the three of them, she slides her hands across Angel’s chest in his tight shirt and leads him away with only a backwards glance towards him and Coco before they’re lost in the crowd.

He turns to Coco with a glint in his eye and what he knows is a filthy grin his face.

“So Coco? Angel says you need to let off some steam?” He knows the exact expression he has on his face as he stands slightly taller than Coco while he’s next to him. He inches closer, the crowd pushes Coco to him and he slides his arm around the shorter man with a grin.

“Angel should mind his own business.” Coco is definitely tense underneath his arm, his shoulders practically come up to his ears. He leads Coco through the crowd slowly, and as tense as he is under Armando’s arm, he doesn’t resist as Armando guides him down behind the stages.

Behind the stages, there’s a set of couches that have mini fridges and platters of fruit next to him. Amando sees the boy from the stage before, he’s curled on the couch with his coworker and another guy he can only assume is the boy’s partner. He leads Coco past them, over towards the red doors that litter the walls ahead of them.

He knows which rooms are empty and which aren’t, and he pushes one of the doors open to reveal a neat room. Coco smiles and it knocks the breath out of his chest. Armando has to still himself against the dresser that’s near the door, trying to stop himself from saying something crazy and stupid and scaring Coco off.

After he stops himself from looking like a maniac he pulls his leather jacket off. The rooms in the back of the club are always cooled, meant for helping couples who wanted a lot more privacy to relax and continue with aftercare. Armando, surprisingly, doesn’t lock the door. Coco does, casually, before he slips out of his kutte and the military jacket underneath.

“Angel told you I needed to let off some steam? Why _vato_?” The isn’t what Armando expects next but he did assume that Coco would ask eventually. He leans against the dresser and lets his arms hang down by his sides.

“We’ve done a few scenes together, I’m guessing he trusts me enough outside of them to give you what you need.” Armando knows that whatever happens inside this room won’t continue outside these walls and the thought causes a little ache in his chest. “If it’s something you don’t want I can just get you a couple of drinks and we can wait for Angel.”

Coco’s expression is curious, his brow is furrowed and Armando is doing his best to read it when Coco steps forward and twists his fist into the front of his shirt. He drags him down into a kiss with the hand in his shirt, it’s rough and their teeth knock together. Armando can feel the sting in his bottom lip when Coco nibbles then bites into it, but he kisses back just as rough, let’s Coco manhandle him towards the bed before they finally pull away and gasp for air. Coco shoves him onto the bed, he’s rough, but he’s not _mean_ , as he slides his hands across Armando’s chest, flattening the fabric that clings to him.

Armando strips out of the thin fabric of his shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it over the other side of the bed. When Coco gets out of his tank top, he lets out a grunted ‘fuck’ at the tattoos that cover the expanse of his skin. His body is lean but still in shape. Armando was right, Coco is all sharp edges. The jut of his hips is prominent and it drags his attention down from the tattoos across Coco’s chest to the v line of his hips. All his strength is just under the surface of his skin and Armando _wants him._

Armando wants to drag his tongue across Coco’s tattoos. He wants to trace every bit of ink he can get his mouth and hands on and he wants Coco to praise him for it. When Coco fumbles with his belt he moves, and is right there to pull the fabric of his jeans down his thighs. The fact that Coco is commando shouldn’t surprise him, he seems like the type. The smile on his face must give him away because Coco is chuckling above him. When he lifts his eyes he sees the man staring down at him with a smile. Armando can read it, Coco likes him beneath him.

He leans forward and does what he wants, licks a piece of ink on Coco’s hip. He makes Coco shudder that way, teases with his tongue along every inch of his hips that he can reach before there’s a hand in his hair and Coco is shoving his dick down his throat. The groan that Coco lets out causes his dick to twitch in the skinny jeans he’s wearing. His cock is hard against his thigh but he doesn’t move his hands, doesn’t want to touch himself. He wraps a hand around the base of Coco’s cock and takes him down his throat. He gags, and the noise and the squeeze of his throat has Coco moaning above him. Coco’s hand tangles in his short hair, just barely, and he tugs, pushes Armando further down on his dick and fucks his mouth.

For lack of better words, Coco is rough, he’s rough in the way his hand grips his hair, rough in the way he rolls his hips. But he doesn’t act like Armando is going to break under him. Coco pulls his head away from his dick, he pants above him but pulls Armando from his knees. There’s a strength in his lean frame, despite Coco looking like he barely has one meal a day. When Coco pulls him up and then pushes him back onto the bed, his dick twitches in his jeans. The fact that Coco can manhandle him is hotter than it ever should be.

He doesn’t go down onto the bed without a fight however. He drags Coco’s jeans off of his legs and runs his hands down the expanse of his back. He drags his short nails across Coco’s back and down to his hips, before he grabs Coco’s ass.

The noise Coco makes when he ducks his head in to mouth at Armando’s skin is intoxicating. It’s a grunt and a moan in one. Armando bucks his hips upwards, still in his jeans and his hands drop off Coco’s ass to fumble with his jeans and kick them off without bucking Coco from above him. He drags Coco down into a kiss with his hands gripping his shoulder.

Coco grinds into him, his dick hot and hard against his hip. He bites Armando’s bottom lip again and there’s a metallic taste of blood in his mouth but he doesn’t care. Armando gets a hand on Coco’s dick, and his, sliding them against each other in his hand. Coco grunts in his ear and his elbows are planted next to his chest, caging him against the bed. He rolls his hips and thrusts into Armando’s hand. Coco’s mouth findes the juncture between his neck and his shoulder and bites down.

It makes Armando moan and arch his back. Coco’s hand finds his free one, fumbles before Coco’s wrenching a hand above his head and is properly pinning Armando to the bed. Armando can barely twist out of the grip that Coco has, not that he would want to. The way Coco digs his fingers into his wrist is sure to leave marks, but the pleasure of the slide of their dicks against each other drags moans out of his mouth.

Coco’s own noises in his ears are spurring him on, twisting his hands and moving his own hips. The way Coco is dragging his teeth across his skin is telltale of how much he needs this. Coco’s teeth and moans send his hips stuttering, causes him to twist his hand on Coco’s dick and jerk him off.

He wants to wring these sounds out of Coco for the rest of his life.

Coco leaves marks on the expanse of his skin across his shoulder in the shape of his teeth. He stutters, and he shakes when he cums across Armando’s stomach and chest. Coco doesn’t pull his face away from the crook of his neck, just continues to mouth at his skin while his chest presses against him.

“So was that good with you _vato_?” Armando is the first one of them to talk. He slides his hand over Coco’s back, he pushes his thumb into the knots of his back, listening to soft groan in his ear from Coco’s mouth.

“Angel’s not wrong. I need to let off some steam.” Coco rolls over onto the other side of the bed and doesn’t meet his eye. “But this is the only time this happens.”

That slides a frown onto Armando’s face.

“Well if that’s the case you know where to find me.” Armando sits himself up and pushes his shoulders back, letting out a soft groan at the crack of his joints. He makes his way over to the attached bathroom, grabbing one of the washcloths on the counter on his way in.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Coco is already dressed.

“You can wait outside if you’d like. I’ll lead you out to the front and you can wait for Angel.” He has an ache in his chest as he says the words. Part of him wants Coco to stay, let off more steam because he can still see the tension in the shoulders.

“I can wait here.” Coco sounds strung out again, all tense and sharp edges compared to how he was when he had his dick in his hand.

“Alright.” He gets dressed, pulling his jeans over his still hard cock, before he’s leaning over to grab his shirt off the ground. He pulls the shirt over his head and grabs his leather jacket, shrugging it on and adjusting the sleeves. Coco has his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

Armando can see him fiddling with something, but he pulls the door open with ease and slips out. Business in the club picks up after eleven and the lounges outside the rooms are pretty filled up when Armando slings an arm around Coco’s shoulders to lead him out. The main room of the club is vibrating. Armando can feel the music down to his bones. He spots Angel before Coco does, Angel is on one of the couches with brunette on his arm, their lips are attached.

“You wanna interrupt that?” Armando lets his arm slip off of Coco’s shoulder and heads over to to the front door.

“Wait, wait where are you going?” Coco calls out to him over the music. He spins around at that, tilting his head curiously.

“My shift’s over and you don’t need anything else from me? I’m gonna go for a ride, then head back to my place.” His stance is casual as he backs towards the door. “Unless you’re gonna come with me? I’ll leave you to wait for Angel.”

“I’ll.” He glances over at Angel before bounding over to duck his head under Armando’s arm, slides into place next to him. “I’ll walk out with ya.”

“So you ride?” Coco is curious when they make it over to his bike. “Why hasn’t Angel brought you around the garage?”

“I ride and I help guys let off some steam. Wonder what your club would make of those facts.” Armando settles onto the seat of his bike and leans forward over the handlebars. “Besides, my little brother got into some club shit when he was younger, fucked him up bad. Don’t wanna go through what he did.”

Coco makes a face that looks like a frown. In the dark outside, the side of Coco’s face is lit by the red neon lights blinking above them.

“I’ll see you around Coco?” The way he says Coco’s name makes his head snap up towards him. “You know where to find me if you need me.” He walks his bike out of his parking spot when Coco nods at him, taking a drag of his cig. He doesn’t say anything to him as he pulls away, and while he’s riding back to his place, he can’t get Coco’s neon-light lit face out of his head.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Armando runs into Coco, he’s visiting town to pick up some groceries. The girl at the counter is handing him his change when Coco pushes the door open, the bell clanging gently from the movement. Coco’s voice is surprised and soft despite the tense look on his face.

“Armando.” He’s been dreaming about Coco. His tousled hair and stubble, his hands and they way they hold a cigarette to his lips. Armando can still hear the moans Coco made in his ears, and hear Coco’s voice. Now he can add what his name sounds like in Coco’s accent to the list of things that he finds attractive about the man. 

He doesn’t expect to see Coco there, but to be entirely fair, it’s the first time he’s actually ventured into the town when it wasn’t the middle of the night since they’ve met. He lifts his bags from the counters before he gives a nod to Coco. 

Coco doesn’t say anything to him. He stares, as Armando walks out of the grocery store and walks over to his bike. While he’s rearranging his groceries, he hears Coco clearing his throat behind him.

“I was thinking.” Coco starts. Armando’s patient. He leans against his bike after finishing with his groceries, with a neutral expression on his face as Coco stands with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “About the offer you made me.”

Armando is sure the noise of curiosity he makes catches Coco’s attention. 

“What’ve you been thinking about it?” 

Coco ‘s expression is telling. He looks like he wants something and Armando waits patiently. It takes a while for Coco to respond, but when he does, there’s a gentle smirk Armando’s face.

“I want to take you up in that offer. Now.” Coco doesn’t sound entirely sure, but he doesn’t sound nervous either. The look Coco gives him is reminiscent of the one he had when he was staring at the boy on the stage.

“Are you sure?” He settles himself against the seat of his bike, shuffling lower into his seat. 

“I know what I want  _ vato _ .” Coco’s shoulders are tense. 

Armando slides one of his hands across his handlebars, as the chrome glints in the sunlight. “Alright then. You can follow me back to my place.” He double checks that his groceries are where the should be before he backs out of his parking spot. Coco stands next to his own bike. He shoots him a glance and a smile before Coc’s frame is getting smaller in his rearview mirror.

The ride back to his place isn’t long, and when he pulls into the red dirt driveway and the engine shuts off he can hear the rumble of Coco’s bike as he pulls down opposite his house. Coco doesn’t park in his driveway, and it’s a smart move. 

Armando bounds up to his door, fingers curling around the plastic bags in his hand. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, shoves a door stop against the gap beneath the door. It’s an invitation for Coco to join him while he puts away his groceries.

His place is pretty open. There’s a set of glass doors that lead into his backyard with curtains drawn back. There’s a mess in his living room, clothes thrown over the back of the couch. There’s an empty bag of take out next to the kitchen counter where his trash can is. 

Armando’s head perks up when he hears the creak of his steps. Coco comes into his house with a wary expression on his face. He already has a cigarette between his fingers, and he’s taking a drag as he’s coming through the door. Armando nudges the fridge door closed with his hip, before he kicks the door stop out of the way.

His door slams shut and it makes Coco jump. He shoots the man an apologetic smile. Coco’s fingers on the hand that isn’t clutching the cigarette are twitching. Armando gets closer to him, eyes his cig with a glittering glint in his eye. 

He snatches the cig from Coco’s fingers with ease, taking a drag from it and savouring the burn in his throat. He doesn’t usually smoke but he can taste a bit of Coco among the smoke and it starts the fire that begins in the pit of his stomach.

Coco looks offended, when he takes another drag from the cig. He holds it out to Coco, but before he can take it, he snatches it back, a playful smirk on his lips. Coco steps closer, until he’s pressing Armando against the edge of his kitchen counter.

The look on his face makes Armando laugh, when he ducks down to tease his lips against Coco’s. Coco backed him up to exactly where Armando wanted him to be. With the cig in his fingers, Armando slides his free hand across Coco’s back, before dragging his fingers underneath his shirt.

Coco makes a noise against him, and pulls away quickly. Armando gives in, hands the cig back to him. Coco snatches it out of his fingers with a forced frown. He can’t help but chuckle at him. Armando shrugs off his jacket, the leather one he insists on wearing even if it’s too hot. He’s only wearing a thin, button up cardigan shirt underneath. He knows Coco’s eyes are on him, on the expanse of his back when he stretches.

“So how do you want me?” The question seems to stun Coco.

Armando drops the grip he has on his kitchen counter, before he jerks his head towards the back of the house where his room is. He moves first, will let Coco come to him in his own time. He strips out of his shirt, tossing it into his laundry hamper. Coco lingers in the doorway. His room isn’t anything special, large queen-sized bed with dark blue sheets. He has blackout curtains over the small window in the room and his wardrobe is shut.

Coco finally comes into his room, gingerly stepping around the bed. Armando tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. “Tell me what you want Coco.” HIs fingers still, and Coco stubs out the barely there cig in between his fingers. 

“I can’t get you out of my head.” It’s a growl, but there’s not heat behind it. “The fuck did you do?” Coco advances, tucks his fingers into his waistband where his thumbs are and scratches his nails against his hips. 

“I’m just giving you what you need.” Armando says cooly, he doesn’t chase Coco’s lips with his own, he doesn’t need to. Coco pushes himself up onto his tiptoes and crashes their lips together. His hands scratch and pull at his hips, the backs of his ass and thighs as he shoves his jeans down his legs. Armando has to wrestle Coco’s shoulders out of his jacket and his kutte. He pushes them off his shoulders, and tucks his fingers under the hem of his undershirt and drags it over Coco’s head once they break away.

The sight of his tattoos, even though he knows that Coco has them still makes his breath catch in his throat. It’s impulsive, but he ducks his head to trace the ink with his tongue, nipping at Coco’s skin. Coco’s fingers push and pull at the flesh of his arse, his teeth grind together and Armando can hear it.

They separate, for a moment, and then Armando is dropping his jeans and boxers to the ground before falling back onto the bed and crawling over to his bedside dresser. He’s fast, efficient, yanks the drawer open and tosses the lube and a condom over his shoulder. 

“I don’t care if you wanna stay fully dressed.” He knows the word sound plain, uncaring. “It’s what you want.” He knows he’s supposed to fake it, but for the first time he actually enjoys more than just the idea of someone using him to let off steam. He enjoys the way Coco’s expressions change, the noises in his ears, the way the ink on COco’s skin moves when he flexes. 

His cock is hard, curved up towards his belly and happy trail. He lays back on the bed, stretches out with a smirk on his face. “Come fuck me then  _ ese _ .” Now he knows he’s just teasing Coco when he sees his jaw clench.

Coco just barely pushes his jeans down his hips before he has his cock in his hand and the lube in his other. The squelch of his hand slicking up his cock makes Armando’s twitch against his skin. “Fuck what’re you doing to me.” 

It’s not a question and they both know it. Coco drags him close by his hips, loops one of his long legs over his shoulder and uses the hand that slicks himself up to prod at his entrance. His prep is minimal, but Armando doesn’t mind. Coco’s still careful as he pushes in, and it burns, it stretches and burns and makes Armando’s back arch beautifully against the bed. Coco doesn’t stop pushing in until Armando takes him to the hilt. He’s clenching around Coco’s dick, when it settles against the spot inside him that has him gasping.

Coco leans forward, presses his knee up towards his chest. “Fuck.” His eyes meet Armando’s and Armando nods while gasping.

“Fucking move!” It’s not an order but it’s close to one. 

Coco moves, pulls out with a swift motion before digging his fingers into Armando and thrusting back in. He settles on a rough pace, dragging his nails across skin before pummeling into Armando like he hasn’t had something warm and tight around him in ages.

The noises Coco makes against him are stuck in his head. He knows he’s gasping like a whore, moaning while Coco gets rough and twists one of his hands into his hair and yanks. Coco cages him between his arms, practically bends him in half under his body while he fucks into him.

Armando wraps one of his own hands around his cock, jerks it even though the friction of his skin is almost unbearable, the pain turns him on even more, just like the burn and stretch did. His moans turn unintelligible and so do Coco’s. Coco’s thrusts are mistimed, jerky. The hands in his hair tug almost violently and his scalp aches just like the heat in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, Coco come on.  _ Harder _ !” It’s a plea for the both of them. Coco’s nails scratch down his side, until his skin burns. The lines bead blood but it doesn’t matter. Armando wraps his free leg around his back, digs his heel into the top of Coco’s arse and starts to beg.Coco’s thrust get rougher, they get brutal and Armando whines and begs and spurs Coco on intentionally until they’re both cumming, Coco inside him and Armando across his chest.

Coco rolls off of him, and Armando spreads out across his bed like he wasn’t just fucked. His ass and his thigh aches, but he turns onto his side to grin at Coco.

“So? Did you blow off enough steam yet?” Armando knows he sounds cocky when he says it, but the look on Coco’s face when he turns to him puts a smirk on his. “What you want a second round? Cause I can keep going?”

“Shut up.” 

“Oh come on Coco.” He pulls himself across his bed with his elbows, before propping himself up on all fours. “You’re still tense. Let all that shit go, really blow off some steam here, that’s what I’m for.” He knows he sounds a little mean as he slides his hands over Coco’s shoulders and digs his thumbs into the knots there but he wants. Wants to roll around in bed for hours with Coco and dig into all the knots he has until he’s relaxed and pliant in his bed next to him.

“Shut the fuck up.” It’s the way that Coco tells him that, gets his blood pumping and his dick twitching even though he’d just cum. 

“Come on  _ Coco _ .” Armando drags out the ‘o’ at the end of his name as he lowers himself onto his stomach. Coco is staring at the ceiling, doesn’t look at him as he’s still pressing his thumb into his shoulders.

“This shit is fucked man.” The change in Coco’s tone isn’t surprising, but the way he looks at Armando, like he’s confused and afraid, catches him off guard. Coco is up in a flash, snatching up his undershirt and his kutte and jacket and shrugging them on. Armando follows him without a word, as he leaves. Coco is wide-eyed and frantic as he digs through his pockets. 

“I’ll be here if you need anything else.” Armando calls out after Coco. He knows how this goes. Guys panic, leave, usually end up not having anything to do with him ever again. Armando leans against his door frame stark naked and watches Coco ride off behind his fly screen. He crosses his arms and ignores the sinking pit in his chest.

He hates that he wants to see Coco again.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn’t go looking for Coco. He wants to because Coco is pretty when the wind pushes back his hair and his eyes are hooded while he takes a drag of his cigarette. He wants to chase after Coco but knows he shouldn't want to chase him. So he goes back into the motions, he goes to work for the next few weeks, hangs out with Angel and his little brother EZ outside of their club business. Like clockwork. He and EZ bond well over sports, school, old things that neither of them have to think about anymore. EZ invites him to play some basketball with him sometime, when he’s not doing work for the club and he’s not being a night owl because of his awkward shifts. Armando likes the easiness and the casualty of the friendship they both offer, likes how comfortable they make him so that he can finally relax in his own skin. Neither of them push him to join them and the club, and he makes his reasons clear.

Angel sometimes looks at him like he wants to ask about Coco, wants to ask how things went, but he doesn’t get the chance. He knows Angel wants to ask because Coco is being an obvious idiot. The man leaves the room whenever he shows up, mutters excuses about something to do with work or club business and runs off without even saying hello. He knows Angel can see the disappointment in his face when he turns up to the club and Coco isn’t with him. When Coco is forced to be around him he pretends like Armando doesn't exist. He's short and sharp with him.

The next time they meet, Armando’s pissed off, he’s more than royally so. He’s cursing up a storm in every language he knows, from English to Spanish to some Gaelic his brother has taught him. And the reason for it is the twisted hunk of metal that is the remainder of his bike. It’s absolutely totalled and he knows why. His friendship with Angel and EZ sets him in the sights of some dangerous people.

EZ is the one that he calls, not Angel. Armando knows that he’s never going to get the bike out of his place alone. He’d left his car back in San Joan before he rode down to Santo Padre and it would be a long ass flight or drive for his brothers and Pop to come help him. He has his phone to his ear the entire time while EZ’s on the road.

EZ is trying to talk him out of his rage over the phone while he drives. He’s normally not hotheaded, but his beauty of a bike was sitting in a twisted pile of junk in front of him and it was yanking at his skin. EZ gets there in a van, flanked by Angel, and by Coco.

Armando’s phone flips shut and the look on Angel’s face is sympathetic when he storms over.

“Look at her Angel, she’s fucking ruined.” His voice betrays how angry he feels, and he knows he can’t be angry with Angel, not when he’s giving him puppy dog eyes. “I think this shit is fucking club blowback _mano_. I came home after my shift, passed the fuck out exhausted from a scene, woke up this morning and she was like this.”

Angel pulls him into a hug, quick and soothing, before he lets him go.

“We’ll get her back to the shop, fix her up nice and new I promise.“ EZ and Angel step forward, towards his baby and debate between each other on how to lift her. Armando can feel Coco’s eyes on him, burning into his back. EZ moves back to the truck, lowers the ramp and rolls out one of those pseudo-wheelbarrow type things you can stack boxes on and roll around. He and Angel heft her onto the platform and roll her steadily up the ramp and into the back of the van.

“You got any other way of getting to work other than your bike?” Angel asks him as he claps a hand onto his shoulder. Armando knows that there’s a frown on his face and the sigh he lets out is more than just frustrated.

“Fuck, no I don’t. I’m gonna have to call out till my bike’s fixed.” He wants to slam his head against a wall, a brick wall preferably.

“You know one of us could take you, right?” EZ always manages to put a smile on his face. Like he’d let any of the other members figure out that he worked at a queer bar. The only options would have been EZ himself, Angel, or _Coco of all people._

“Thanks EZ but I can’t show up to work escorted by you guys in your kuttes. It’ll scare off business.”

“Look, at least let one of us take you to your shift tonight. It’s your last one before payday right?” Angel is always the voice of reason, especially since he’d come down to Santa Padre.

“Fine, but no kuttes, seriously I can't get in trouble or I'm gonna have to move back home. Not that that'd be a bad thing.”

“Fine. Now we’re gonna go to the garage, you can hang out with us, and then I’ll get Coco to ride you down to work.” Wait what? He narrows his eyes at Angel and catches the smirk that tugs on the corner of his mouth. That sneaky mother fucker.

“Alright _ese._ ” EZ gestures towards the van, asking him to get in.

Butterflies settle into his gut as he climbs into the passenger seat and they're off towards the garage with his baby in the back. EZ backs out of his driveway.

At the garage he ends up filling out paperwork and curses when he realizes he doesn't have his insurance details. He ends up calling his little brother.

“Sverri.” His little brother sounds severely out of breath when he answers the phone. “Please don't tell me I interrupted you and Juice.”

“ _Nope_.” His brother sounds way too cheerful despite his panting. He definitely interrupted him and Juice.

“If you say so _hermanito,_ look can I grab a favour from you, you know I'll owe you one.” He can imagine that Sverri’s rolling his eyes.

“ _Of course Mando_.”

“Can you grab my insurance papers from my desk at the garage? My bike got totaled and I don't have my insurance card on me.”

“ _What?_ ” It's not a shriek in his ear but it's close to one and he has to pull the phone away as Sverri launches into a tirade of curses in Gaelic. “ _Fuck happened to your bike?_ :

“Sverri. Sverri come on!” He has to yell into his phone to get Sverri back on track. He can hear rustling on the other end of the line before the familiar creak of the door to the office of the garage.

“ _Got them, I'll send you a picture of the stuff you need aight?_ ” His phone buzzes for a moment and he pulls away to check the notification. With a sigh of relief he pulls the phone back to his ear.

“Thank you Sver, I owe you.”

“ _How about you pay me back by not scaring the shite out of me.”_ Sverri is definitely rolling his eyes at him over the phone.

“I'll buy you something when I get home yeah.” Yeah if he remembers the promise whenever he gets back to San Joan.

“ _When you coming back home Mando_?” Sverri sounds like the kid he was when he turned up on their doorstep with their Pop.

“Hey… I'll be home relatively soon. You missing me already huh?” He knows the smile on his face is stupid and it gets wider when Sverri protests over the phone. “I know little brother. I'll tell you when I can ride back up okay?” He hears a noise of confirmation over the phone and then Juice’s voice in the background. Sverri mumbles into the phone that he has to go, and he nods with the phone next to his ear.

“I'll be home soon.” He promises before Sverri ends the call. He'll admit to himself, that he misses his brother more and more while he's around Angel and EZ. They remind him of Sverri and him, how close they were once Sverri was adopted.

As he's scrawling down his insurance details he thinks about Sverri's question. When _is_ he heading home? It starts him pacing back and forth. He's trying to work out how much money he has left until his bike is fixed. He knows he's not short on cash but if he can't get back into work then staying down in Santa Padre isn't such a good idea anymore, there's no security for him.

EZ is leaning against his own bike while he paces, until he's sick of it and calling out to him to stop before he loses his lunch.

“Sorry EZ.” He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest.

“Who was on the phone?” EZ is walking over to him.

“Oh? Oh I called my little brother to grab my insurance papers cause I don't know where my insurance card is.” He pulls a small smile and slips his phone into his pocket. “He asked me when I was coming home.”

“I didn't know you had a brother?” EZ isn't asking to pry.

“I have three.” He still has a dopey smile on his face from talking to Sverri.

“Dude that's cool. It's just me and Angel.”

“It's cool until you're the older brother and they try to scab money off of you.” His words don't have any bite to them. “There's me, then Sverri, and then the twins, Logan and Marcello.” He follows EZ out into the courtyard. Angel and Coco are standing over towards their clubhouse. EZ claps a hand on his back when a member calls him over.

“Remember Coco will take you down to work. Do you need to go anywhere else in the meantime?”

“Nah man, I was gonna sleep in till later but I got a bad feeling which you know…” He gestures over to where his bike is. “Led to all that.”

He hangs around the garage. He gets a few looks from people he doesn't know, but settles down onto one of the benches outside with his phone in his hand. He's got a game open, one of those three in a row games that's mindless and has a couple hundred levels. He has the next eight hours to get through before he can even consider getting ready to head out for work and he can already feel the boredom creeping up on him.

As he shifts on the bench he realizes what he must look like, sitting there in his work clothes from last night with bed head and bags under his eyes.

“Ah fuck.” He has to get to his place. Needs an ice cold shower and an iced coffee or five, to wake him up properly and to soothe the tension in his shoulders. How he's going to get home is another question.

“Armando.” Angel is hovering over him and he realizes he must've been staring at his phone without doing anything.

“Angel I need to go back to my place. I need a shower, coffee. Something to do.”

“I don't think you should go anywhere alone. Spoke to Bishop, club thinks it definitely was retaliation.”

He drops his head into his hands. Even miles away from San Joan he has to get involved in some club shit somehow. He's more like Sverri than he thinks.

“You realize I work at a private club right? I can't really have a body guard that isn't vetted by the bosses hovering over me behind the bar.”

“Well you'll have to have one of us in there. If it's retaliation for what we think, you're not safe.”

Maybe he should just never leave San Joan. That way he doesn't get caught up in this bullshit. It seems to be a trend, from Sverri and then him, they just can't escape this shit. Maybe if he and Sverri and Logan and Marcello just stay in San Joan for the rest of their lives with their father nothing bad will ever happen to them ever again.

“At least... fuck let me go home Angel. I need a shower, coffee. I'm gonna go crazy if I have to sit here for 8 hours doing nothing.” He starts cursing like a sailor when he’s frustrated, he knows that and knows that even if Sverri isn’t his blood, he’s the exact same way. Maybe his little brother got it from him.

“Coco will take you home.”

His head snaps up from the bench and his eyes are trained on Angel’s face. The smirk on his lips is prominant, and Armando scrambles for the closest non-lethal thing he can find (a leaf) before he throws it at him.

“Now you're just being a git on purpose. Stop trying to throw him at me, it was just to blow off some damn steam, nothing else.”

“You're acting like there isn't something between the two of you.” He has a smirk on his face and Armando has the biggest urge to wipe it off.  “He’s barely managed to look at you? What did you do? Fuck some feelings into him?”

“Nothing happened Angel.”

“But-”

“There's absolutely nothing that happened.” His voice is sharper than he intends and Angel lifts his hands in surrender.

“Fine. But he's still the only one I trust other than EZ to watch you.”

“Jesus fuck fine. Can he take me home then? I'm gonna need a shower and a fucking drink.” He sighs and pushes himself up from the bench, sliding his phone into his back pocket.

“Yeah.”

He tucks his hands into his back pocket and slips a smile onto his face when Angel calls out for Coco.

It's when he realizes he's gonna have to ride bitch behind Coco is when the trouble starts. It's not really that he has a problem riding bitch, but really the way Coco flinches when he touches him and pulls away when he has to lean in on a turn. He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to cause a crash and get them both hurt.

When they're back at his place he gets off the bike.

“You don't have to stay if you don’t want to you know. I can walk to work later. Would take me a time and a half but I’d make it” The frown on Coco's face was unexpected. Surprisingly Coco follows him inside. “Seriously, I'm gonna just take a shower and either make an entire pot of coffee and drink it, or I'm gonna be asleep for another four hours.”

“Angel said you can't be alone.”

“Yeah but I can take care of myself.” … “But fine just get comfortable. I don't have work for another 8 hours.”

His shower didn't help him one bit, he can’t get his water cold enough. He can hear Coco puttering around in his kitchen, the fridge door opening and closing, and then opening again. Sections of the floorboards creak and he could hear Coco creeping around outside. when he was done he wrapped a towel around himself and sighed, before he flopped onto the bed.

He honest to god just wanted the day to end already, so he could finish his shift and have the rest of the week off before he was back on during the weekend. It takes him a while to realize that there's a knocking on his bedroom door.

“Armando?” Coco's voice comes through the door and he let's out a groan.

“Yeah.” He doesn't move, just slides his arm off of his face and turns it towards the door. “I'm getting dressed man, what's up?”

“It’s been like forty-five minutes, I was just-” There’s a pause, a bit of hesitation and then. “Never mind.” He can hear the telltale signs of Coco’s retreating steps. The breath he lets out is strained. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, eyes dropping to his hands twisted into his sheets.

“Christ on a fucking stick.” Armando hates this. How suddenly he’s on eggshells and if he makes a wrong move everything is going to crash around him. He pulls himself to the edge of his bed and forces himself to his feet, trudging over to his closet. He doesn’t even have any good shirts left over for work. Snatching up a pair of jeans, he shoves his legs into them before slamming his bedroom door open. The noise the door makes when the knob slams into the wall makes Coco jump off of his couch, and when he spots Armando frustratingly rumaging through his washing machine, he settles back down.

“What are you doing?” Armando pauses, inhaling sharply.

“The fuck’s it look like I’m doing. I don’t have a fucking shirt that’s good enough for work. So I’m gonna dig through my laundry to find one.”

“So what? You’re gonna wear a dirty shirt.”

“Mary, mother of Jesus. No!” He dropped to his knees and leaned his forehead against the cool metal. “Fucking hell man.” He snatched up a shirt and gathered the piles of clothes around the living room before throwing them into the laundry.

The top of the machine slams shut on the fingers of his left hand.

“Fucking _fuck_!” He clenches his fingers in his other hand. A frustrated yell leaves his lips before he drops against the wall behind him. “That’s it, I’m fucking done, this fucking cunt of a machine and those dickheads who fucked with my bike.” He only just manages to stop himself from punching the floor next to him, the throb of his fingers reminding him of the betrayal his washing machine just committed.

“Armando?” Coco’s voice is concerned, soft, from where he’s standing in the corridor. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sick of this shit, everything’s going great and then God fucking picks today of all days to go to shit.” His fingers ache when he clenches his hand into a fist. “It’s such shit man.”  

“Hey.” Coco is suddenly next to him, kneeling and taking his aching fingers into his hand. His hands are gentle, soothing over his fingers and pressing lightly against the joints. “It’s okay.” Coco rubs his thumbs over his fingers a few more times softly before he stands and fiddles with his washing machine. He hears the familiar beep of it starting and the rumble of the basin turning. “I’ve got this.” Coco knows what he’s doing, he thinks. He disappears from his view for a second and before he can lift his head, Coco is crouching next to him with a washcloth full of ice that he presses into his hand, curling his fingers around it.

“How bad?” Coco’s calloused fingers are gentle, they slide across his knuckles and trace the scars on his fingers. “The pain?” He elaborates when Armando hesitates.

“Just aches. Fuck I need to get of the floor.” His fingers curl and he yelps when the backs of his fingers press against his floor. “Christ that thing does some damage.” He switches hands, pushes himself onto his feet. Coco is hovering over him, his hands are framing his body, like he’s ready to catch Armando if he falters.

“Hey take it easy.” Coco looks, _sweet._ He looks kind and it makes Armando melt a little.

“Sorry.” He can’t really _look_ at Coco, just lift his head slightly so that it looks relatively like he’s looking at him, but Coco can’t see his cheeks. He’s got a damn blush on his cheeks and it makes him feel stupid. He’s blushing over Coco being seeet to him like a fucking girl.

“Don’t apologize.” His hand is still shaking, but he gives Coco a genuine smile.

“Thank you.” The ice is melting in the washcloth against his hand but it doesn’t bug him. The cold water drips down his fingers and it catches Coco’s attention when it drips onto the floor.

“Shit your floorboards.” Coco moves a lot faster than he anticipates, pulls him over to the sink and unwraps the washclotch and drops the ice cubes into the sink. The tea towel on his sink get snatched up and Coco is tossing it over the the drops of water on the floor. Coco leads him over to the couch, sits him down and takes his fingers in his hands.

“Doesn’t look like you’re gonna get anything more than bruises, at the most.” The way Coco holds his hand puts hearts in his eyes.

“You’re good at this.” Armando shifts, leans over to brush his shoulder against Coco’s and curls his fingers around Coco’s, even with a wince. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s shitty, what’s going on right now. I get that.” Coco sticks one of his hands into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one. Inside his fuckin’ house of all places, now the smell is going to linger and Armando is never gonna get him out of his mind. “I haven’t really been the best company before today.” He offers the box to him first, and when he waves his hand towards the box, Coco takes another long frag from the cigarette before he pulls the cig from his mouth and holds it out to him. Smoke is still escaping from his mouth when Armando hesitates, before he reaches his good hand up and takes it, brings it to his lips hesitantly. The look Coco gives him urges him on, even if he can’t read it, and he inhales, taking in the burn as it scratches down his throat. The cloud gets stuck for a second, and he coughs as he pulls the cig from his mouth, before the smoke rolls out of his nose and lips.

Coco is staring at him, out of the corner of his eye he can see it. Coco’s dark eyes are roaming the line of his jaw and down the length of his throat.

He. Is weak. Armando is very _fucking_ weak and he _wants Coco_. He shifts, moves his thigh closer to Coco’s and then he’s turning, leaning closer as the last of the smoke moves past his lips and up across their faces, before he’s kissing Coco.

It’s not rough, not like the first two times they started something.j It’s slow, soft and _gentle_. The noise that Coco’s make is astonished, confused, and then melts into a quiet moan. Armando’s fingers are still clutching the cig, but Coco’s hands come up to clutch his face. His thumbs trace and frame his jaw and then Coco is pulling them both down and Armando on top of him.

He likes Coco like this, soft touches from calloused fingers and his lips plush against him. He slots in between Coco’s legs and settles down between them, resting his hips against Coco’s and he kisses him deeper, uses the hand that was hurt by the washing machine top to tug at his hair so he can angle Coco and start trailing softer kisses down the side of his jaw.

Coco gasps, like his touch is more than just chapped lips on his stubble. He shifts, but doesn’t push Armando off as he continues gently. Coco’s hands drop from his face, fingertips trail down his throat and then to his chest, they hover over the ink he has on his chest, his family’s names over his heart. Coco’s fingers trace the ink, and then loop to his sides, until Coco is clutching him by his skin and digging his fingers into him.

His fingers heat and he pulls away only to take a drag of the cigarette that’s still in his hand. He drops his head back down, gently nudges Coco’s lips and swipes his tongue across the seam of his mouth playfully, a curl of smoke floating from his mouth before he’s kissing Coco again and breathing the smoke into his lungs.

Coco moans, really fucking moans and it’s the best thing Armando has ever heard. It’s slow and it comes deep from the inside of his throat and he can feel Coco’s chest rumble against him. Everything gets drowned out while they’re exchanging breaths and the hint of smoke between each other. It's a fucking reprieve, from how frustrating things have been today, how feelings crash inside him, homesickness, sadness, _guilt_. Coco’s nails dig into him but they don’t draw blood. Coco holds onto him like everything will crash all around the if he lets go.

His hand slips out of Coco’s hair to cup his cheek and he pulls away from Coco to take another drag of the cig. This time, _Coco chases him_. Coco chases his lips and pulls him in and breathes in the smoke without any prompting. Coco pushes his tongue into his mouth and flicks it against his before he’s sucking the smoke, breath and air right from his lungs.

The cigarette burns dangerously close in his hands, and the heat between his fingers is surprisingly pleasant. It matches the heat on his cheeks and in the pit of the stomach as Coco’s fingers curl against his skin and his own fingers curl against his cheek.

A phone rings, and it snaps them out of it. The haze the smoke gives has cleared.

Coco looks terrified.

Armando doesn’t move.

Coco does. A push, a shove and he’s falling off his own couch and landing on his back and the cigarette is crushed between his fingers with a burn.

Coco fumbles, runs a hand, both hands, over his face and through his hair, looking panicked, mutters, gasps, curses. He moves, he turns away from the look Armando has on his face,  _can't bear to look at him._

Six hours later.

He starts walking to work.


	4. Chapter 4

To say that he’s upset is a fucking understatement. His shift had been over for two and a half hours at least, and at one in the fucking morning he was sitting at the bar he was tending at with a bottle of vodka and a glass half filled with soda. He doesn’t want to cry, not yet anyway. Nothing wrong with crying because you didn’t realize you may have had actual feelings for someone who didn’t care, but he’d rather cry in his bed with his pillow where he can pour his heart and feelings out to his little brothers or his Pop over the phone.

He’s nursing a split lip from a fight. Jealous boyfriend who had a handsy girlfriend that didn’t take no for an answer. The guy hit him but didn’t get very far when he didn’t fight back. Bouncers escorted them out and left Armando with an ice pack and a drink and let him wallow in his own self-made misery.

Armando fucking hates it. He stares at his phone and knows that the first logical thing to do is that he calls Angel, or maybe EZ, to come get him because he is way too fucked up right now. Knows that he probably shouldn’t entertain the idea of walking home and passing out and hoping for the best. He thinks he’s had what could’ve been his last paycheck’s worth of vodka and nothing is buzzing anymore everything is just  _ numb _ .

He feels damn stupid, and damn fucking sorry for himself. Getting fucking rejected by someone is bad enough when he doesn’t genuinely like them but when he does, it hurts like hell. His phone beeps in his hand and when he can finally focus on the screen, it’s his little brother that’s texted him back. He doesn’t remember texting Sverri anything in the first place.

_ ‘Are u fuckin’ drunk or wat Mando?’ _ God he really fucking hates the way his brother types on the phone. Wants him to spell out the words so he doesn’t have to figure out it it’s a typo or not.

‘I miss you. I need to come home.’ It comes out more like  _ ‘I niss yoy, need to comm home.’  _ because his fucking thumbs seem to miss the letters and autocorrect never works when he wants it to. It seems like the most logical thing to send back. Because he does. He misses his fucking brother, he misses Sverri and Juice, misses Logan and Marcello, misses all of them being able to cheer him the fuck up, and why is he upset again?

His phone buzzes and this time it’s not Sverri, it’s Angel.

‘ _ I thought Coco was taking you to work tonight and bringing you home, where are you?’ _ There it fucking was. The reason he had at least two full bottles of vodka and was propping himself up against the bar top with his elbows raw from digging into the grain of the wood.

‘Walked.’ It’s simple. He doesn’t need to explain that he’s sulking and that Coco fucking Cruz rejected him so instead of facing him he slipped out of the house when Coco left and just started walking until he got to the club. He doesn’t want to admit to Angel and EZ of all people that he was going shot for shot with the patrons at the bar  _ before _ he started digging into the vodka bottles.

_ ‘WHY in the fuck?” _ Angel does sound mad over text, if one could, actually hear how people sounded over text. Armando’s never been able to understand how Angel get’s his tone to project perfectly over a bunch of digital words.

He must take too long to respond because the next minute, his phone is ringing, he’s swiping over the answer button and then Angel is yelling into his ear and he can also hear EZ trying to calm his brother down in the background.

“ _ Mando. _ ” It’s funny how Angel manages to say it in the exact same way Sverri does when he’s disappointed in him. “ _ Where the fuck are you? _ ” 

“Work.” He tries to get the words out as clear as he can but he knows just as well as the next bloke that he’s slurring his words.

“ _ Fuck are you trashed? Did you fucking get wasted after work Mando? _ ” He mumbles something down the line. Angel’s voice rings out over the shite speaker on his phone and he has to groan, press his forehead against the top of the counter.

“M’fine Angel. M’just…” He shrugs as if Angel can see him, not like it would make a difference anyway, it’s not like they could really help him out, unless they had a time machine that could stop him from being a fucking idiot. “Gonna walk home or some shit.” 

“ _ Like hell you are. _ ” There’s a rustling over the line and then EZ’s calmer voice is speaking to him.

“ _ Armando, come on, just stay at work, we’re gonna come get you okay? Take you home _ .” EZ talks to him like he’s an injured and frightened animal, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t feel offended by it. He melts slightly, against the bartop and holds his phone closer to his mouth.

“I wanna go home EZ.” He thinks it’s EZ, knows it’s EZ, but also knows that he’s pretending it’s someone else, part of him wants to call him by a different name, wants it to be his little brother who’s calling to calm him down because he knows he needs help.  _ He’s so fucking far away from home right now and his family can’t help him. _ He thinks he might be crying and fuck if he’s crying cause then they’ll know something is wrong but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth. “Can’t fuckin stay here no more  _ hermano, _ hurts.” 

EZ, for lack of better words cause his brain is fucking empty, sounds, scared? Sad? He can’t tell and doesn’t really do well at paying attention when EZ is talking to Angel and his voice is muffled. He vaguely catches the sound of an engine, barely hears EZ, who’s turned his attention back to him and is talking to him. He can’t make out most of the words EZ says to him anymore but it’s okay. He’ll be okay, if he lays his head down and rests his head on the bar top and closes his fucking eyes he might be right.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and how long has he been laying his head against the bartop. He lifts his head, blurry-eyed and his eyes fucking hurt. EZ’s looking down at him like he’s hurt, like something’s happened. The person behind EZ looks pissed off and Christ if there was ever a time Armando wishes he had full control of his limbs so he can run, now is it.

Angel looks fucking livid with him, probably at the split lip he has and the bruise that’s forming on his cheek. EZ’s hand curls around his bicep and pulls him to his feet and then Angel is ducking under his arm to sling his arm over his shoulder and to take his weight.

“Once I fucking get you home you have a shit ton of fucking explaining to do  _ mano. _ ” Angel’s growling in his ear. He knows he says something back, something about home and it softens the frown on Angel’s face. It makes EZ look sad, whatever he’s saying. He knows he’s just talking and talking now, talking about  _ home. _

They haul him into the van. EZ sits in the back with him, looks after him like his little brother would. He catches himself calling him Sverri a couple of times. He doesn’t know whether or not he should apologize, and he does anyway because EZ looks so sad with him. 

Angel has to physically lift him bridal style to carry him into his place, he knows because his face is tucked into Angel’s throat and he knows what Angel’s cologne smells like. EZ fumbles his keys out of his pocket and pushes the door open. Armando can still smell the smoke that the cigarette left behind and then he’s fumbling out of Angel’s grasp, twists, stumbles forward, clutches at his trash can and throws up all the alcohol that doesn’t want to stay down. 

He’s puking for a good ten minutes, tears are streaming down his face and he’s cursing and spitting into the trashcan. At least, he thinks it’s ten minutes. His perception of time is off. He thinks EZ wraps a blanket around him, brings him a damp towel for him to press his face into and Angel is crouching next to him with a cup of water in his hand.

The guilt is back again. Crawling in, through, up and around him. Goes under his skin and claws at his insides. He can feel their eyes on him, waiting for him to say something.

“Won’t happen again.” He knows for a fact, even as he feels like shit, that it’s not what they want him to say. It’s not what they want to hear.

“Fuck that. Mando what happened?” EZ is crouching on his other side. He slides his hand on his shoulder when his slip off of the rim of the trashcan and he curls them into the blanket instead.

“I fucked up.” He doesn’t want to tell them. It makes him look like coward, like he’s afraid. “I won’t do it again.” 

“Sure as fuck you won’t. Someone messes up your bike in retaliation against us and then you ditch Coco, walk to work and get fucking wasted, alone?” Angel sounds angry, he doesn’t look it but he sounds like it.

“Coco left.” It’s not like he means to throw Coco under the bus but his sadness always has and will give way to anger and spite. He’s not the nicest person when someone hurts him, even if it’s unintentional. Now that he’s home and he can smell that fucking cigarette, his head aches. It pounds and throbs and Armando just wants to lean against the cool marble of his countertop so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

“Then you should’ve called one of us. Me, EZ. You’re not alone out here Armando.” 

There’s that guilt. He made EZ and Angel worry, he’d manage to make someone worry and it happened to be the only fucking friends that he had in this place.

“I’m sorry.” Something on Angel’s face tells him that an apology wasn’t what Angel expected. It’s enough to get him doubling back over a trash can with a wave of guilt-induced nausea. “I’m fine now. You guys probably have shit to do tomorrow.” His words are less slurred but the intent is there. He wants to crawl into his bed and cry his heart out and be weak for the rest of the night.

“No way. We’re not leaving you alone. Worst case scenario with the shit you’ve been babbling you’re gonna fuckin’ run off in the middle of the night and get hit by a car.” 

“I’m gonna try an’ sleep. Angel.” He can still smell that fucking cig, smell alcohol and sick in his trash, Angel’s cologne. Angel is pulling him up from the floor to his feet, securing the blanket around him with a firm tug before he’s ushered into the bathroom.

His bathroom lights are too bright, white LED’s that he fell in love with when he first moved in were now shining and hurting his damn skull. 

“Fuck.” He drops his head, away from the light and then Angel, it has to be Angel he can still smell his cologne, is curling his fingers around his toothbrush.

It’s muscle memory at this point, even if he’s tired, half sober and his throat aches. His toothpaste is sharp, some minty shit that he buys at home and when he spits he ignores how gross everything looks.

EZ is the one that helps him to his bed, tucks the blankets around him and pats the top of his head affectionately.

“EZ?” Angel is out of the room somewhere, puttering around with the floorboards creaking under his shoes. 

“Yeah Mando?” They both say it like Sverri does, soft, it’s nice but it causes a pang in his chest.

“Think m’leavin after my bike’s fixed.” Now that he’s in bed, he feels so fucking tired he thinks he could sleep for a week. Two seconds pass, and then he’s curling around his pillow and bunching up his blankets around his shoulders. EZ’s hand is hovering over his shoulder, before he soothes him. “I need ta go home.” 

His eyelashes flutter against his pillow and the weight next to him shifts, disappears.

“Get some rest Mando, shit’ll be fine in the morning.” It’s the last thing he hears before he’s out cold and hugging one of his pillows to his chest, tangled in his blanket.

 

* * *

 

The next day doesn’t show him any mercy. He manages to shower, get dressed, snatch a packet of smokes from one of his kitchen cupboards before he slips out of the house without waking Angel and EZ who are awkwardly perched, asleep on his couch.

His phone isn’t fully charged, but it doesn’t matter when he gets walking. Walking clears his head, calms him down, gets rid of all the frustration that builds up.

He doesn’t know which direction he’s heading in, he just knows he’s walking to clear his head. It’s a couple hours in when he realizes that he’s not actually that fucking smart and he might be lost. He doesn’t know where he’s going and his throat hurts from the packet of cigs he’s smoked through. They’re not the same brand that Coco smokes. The fact that happens to be at the forefront of his mind when he ditched the box about a mile back. Red desert soil and the sun beating down on him was not the idea he had when he went out. He just wanted to get walking, to sort out all the shit going on in his head.

Yup, he’s well and truly lost. It must’ve been at least, four by now. The sun is still burning bright around him but all he sees is road and sand and why the fuck did he not bring a water bottle with him.

He tries to retrace his steps, but there isn’t much to retrace on tarmac and shifting sands. Angel and EZ are gonna bring him back to life and kill him if he dies out here. Hell his little brother is going to die so he can haunt him in the afterlife for dying like an idiot in the desert.

Next thing he knows is that he’s bundling down because the sun is setting and there’s a single fucking tree in the middle of nowhere that’s offering the tiniest bit of shelter so his back doesn’t feel so exposed. He wraps his arms around his knees and glances down his phone. No signal and barely a sliver of battery life left.

He’s so fucked.

 

* * *

 

 

His head is pounding when Angel bursts into his room and rips his blackout curtains open and the sun is immediately shining onto his face. How he managed to get in? Armando has no fucking clue. How the fuck is he in his bed and not covered in sand?

“Bro what the fuck!” He flings the first thing in his hands at Angel, which happens to be his pillow, before he drops back into bed and presses his other pillow above his face, blocking out the son.

“Get the fuck up Armando! You have explaining to do.” There’s a creak in the floorboard and when he peaks out from under his pillow EZ is standing in his doorway with a smirk on his face.

“The fuck are the two of you doing here?”

“We had to take you home cause you were fucking passed out in the middle of the fucking road? Where the hell did you think you were going?.” Christ it’s like he’s being babysat by Sverri and Juice all over again. Why the hell did they need to take him home?

Oh. 

He catches the look on EZ’s face, the smile is wobbly and when he finally lifts his head to look at Angel and drops the pillow into his lap.  _ Oh. _

“Um, I can explain.” 

“You better hope you can explain why you; ditched Coco, walked to work, decided you were gonna drink two fucking bottles of vodka and started crying into EZ’s shirt, asked if you could go  _ home _ when we came to get you, and then told EZ you were gonna leave once your bike is fixed. Then disappear and we gotta find you in the fuckin’ sand” Angel looks so done with him after he lists all the stupid shit he did last night but it’s a brotherly kind of frustration that he’s used to seeing on Sverri’s face. It takes him a second to realize that it’s not just frustration on Angel’s face, but there’s hurt, and he’ll take a bet that if he looks over at EZ and really  _ looks _ , EZ’s hurt too.

“I didn’t mean to, do any of that.” His fingers curl into his pillowcase. “I just wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

“Which parts  _ mano _ ? Cause there’s a lot of shit that happened last night.”

“The vodka and the crying, walking to work, disappearing on you guys, making you worry. But I didn’t ditch Coco he  _ left _ .” Yeah, Coco left after they were shotgunning his cig and making out on the couch like fucking teenagers. “And about the leaving man, I need to go home, my family’s there, my brothers, my pop, but I ain’t leaving till my baby’s fixed up. Besides I won’t leave without saying bye, to either of you.” 

Angel’s face softens and then he’s taking two steps closer to the bed and hugging him tight. “You need to talk about this shit. The drinking man, that wasn’t for fun, we can see that. Whatever’s goin’ on? We can help yeah?” 

He doesn’t know how to explain it. How does he tell Angel that he was kinda right, but that Coco ended up fucking feelings into him and it wasn’t the other way around? How does he explain that he was drinking because he was upset about some dumb crush?

“Does it have something to do with Coco?”  He knows the speed that he lifts his head at gives him away.

“What happened? Why’d he leave?”

“I did some stupid shit man.”

“Did you fuck feelings into him?” Angel can’t mean that but he sounds entirely serious. “Or the other way around?” His silence is such a fucking giveaway. “Armando I’m not gonna treat ya like shit if you got a crush on Coco, like you said, I practically throw him at you anyway.”

“I don’t know why he left.” Yes he does. “His phone rang while we were on the couch and then he looked all scared and shit and left. Didn’t say anything to me.”

“You got feelings for him?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty, and sweet.” The fact that EZ snorts from the doorway sours the expression on his face. “Fuck off yea, he is.” 

“Right right okay, sorry Mando.” 

“EZ go wait on the couch.” Angel shoos him away and settles onto the bed opposite to him.

Once EZ is out of his doorway, he relaxes. 

“So what. You and Coco, some shit happens, he gets a phone call.” Of course Angel’s trying to piece together everything that happened.

“We were making out and shit, then his phone rang and he panicked and left.”

“Mando, no offense  _ mano _ , but do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” 

“Hey!” He protests but Angel continues anyway.

“You drank two bottles of vodka because Coco got a phone call and panicked. Coco’s fucked up six ways from Sunday but he actually likes you, why else would he have volunteered to take you to work Mando. He probably bolted because it was Letti calling and she needed help.” Angel has a wide ass smile on his face. “The only reason we even texted you was because Coco came back to the garage panicking because you weren’t home and he’d spent like an hour and a half looking for you.

“Volunteered? Motherfucker you didn’t mention that shit.”

“Well yeah he asked me not to mention it.” Oh fuck. 

“Wait he went looking for me?” Seriously Coco. He lets out a groan when Angel nods.

“Jesus Christ I’m a dumb fuck.” 

“You are, but he’s not really that open about shit either. But he likes you Mando, probably just as much as you like him. He was blowing up EZ’s phone because EZ wouldn’t let him come with us.” Angel is rubbing his shoulder, patting it gently. He feels like a bloody idiot. Angel looks like he’s waiting for something, as they’re sitting there.

It hits him.

“I’m gonna have to talk to him about this aren’t I?” 

Angel nods. “He’s mad at you too.”

“Ah fuck.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Five days. That’s how long it’s been since Angel told him that Coco liked him back. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to confront Coco about it, not just confront him but he doesn’t know what to say or do. He wants to talk it out with Coco, but between his impulsive decision to get out of Santo Padre and the night Angel and EZ had to carry him home, he doesn’t know if he can handle everything that is Coco. It’s probably the coward’s way out, but if he can run instead of facing the guilty feeling in his gut, he’s going to take the out. 

He’ll admit, he’s not good t it. He’s not good at feelings when they’re his own. His little brother is the hopeless romantic out of the both of them. It’s one of the reason he has his job in the first place, gets him to be with people without being  _ with people. _

Coco is everything he wants.

Amrnado just doesn’t know if he can have him.

He’s going home, when he gets his bike out of the garage. Ez is moving into his place so that he doesn’t have the hassle of setting up to sell, but the last problem he has is, whatever he and Coco have the chance to be. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he think’s he’s scared. Does he love Coco? Maybe? Does he wanna get somewhere with Coco that he can call a proper relationship? Yep. 

In the end, Coco is the one who comes to him. He’s packing his shit up. Sverri is driving down so that he can bring some of the stuff he bought back home. There’s four or five boxes littered around the floor of his living room, two are still propped open. One has books, DVD’s and some smaller trinkets. He’s leaving most of his things behind for EZ to use.

Coco’s fist raps on the fly screen and then on his front door at around eleven. He’s hesitant when Armando pulls open the fly screen, he rolls his bottom lip in between his teeth, and then props his hand on the doorway.

“Hey Armando.” Coco sounds nervous and the fact that he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth adds to that.

“Hi.” He backs up and holds the screen door open. “Uh, yeah come in.” Coco slides in past him, looks around at the boxes.

“You’re leaving?” Coco’s fingers curl at the hem on his jacket pockets. “When?”

“When my little brother gets here, tomorrow I guess, maybe Friday?” He’s trying to rearrange some of the trinkets from his shelf into the box since they won’t fit. One of the books that he has doesn’t fit into the box. “It takes nine hours to drive down from San Joan and Sverri usually works on Thursdays so I guess he’s driving down in the morning on Friday.”

“Angel and EZ know?” Coco’s looking at him, he can see it out of the corner of his eye. “That your leaving?”

“Yeah. I uh, told them a couple days ago.”  He puts the box down and finally turns over to look at Coco. “I wanted to… Well I wanted to tell you too but I didn’t know how.”

“By saying you’re leaving.” 

“I didn’t know how.” He’s itching to touch Coco, just, a hand on his shoulder or maybe an arm around his waist. “It’s not that simple.”

“Was I ever gonna know?”

His hands feel clammy. Coco’s looking at him with dark, half-hooded eyes and his fingers are picking at the stitching on his jacket. There’s a lump in his throat, and he abandons the box he’s fiddling with. He steps closer to Coco, raises a hand hesitantly, before brushing the backs of his fingers against his stubble.

Coco doesn’t move away. His breath hitches, and he leans in slightly to the touch. Coco looks a lot younger when his eyes are like that. His other hand is tentative, it’s a back and forth, reach and pull away before he finally slides his hand into Coco’s. He stops his fingers from scratching at the threads, tucking his fingers around Coco’s and holds them.

“I wasn’t sure if I could face you.” When did he become a sappy fuck? There’s tears in his eyes, and he knows if he blinks that there’s going to be a tear trickling down his cheek. “Angel told me you were worried.”

Coco’s eyes open, when did he close them? Coco leans closer, his hands slide around his waist and pull him closer, until Armando stops fumbling and his feet finally slot in between Coco’s. “Mierda. Of course I was. You think I’d let anyone kiss me like you did?” 

A laugh escapes his lips, but it sounds more like a sob. “Fuck if I knew. I was stupid Coco.”

“Oh yeah you were. I’m not gonna say you weren’t.” Coco leans in, his other hand drops to his side and Coco’s taking his hand into his. “But I think I can let it slide, cause I wasn’t being real open with you was I. Kept running off on you.” 

He blinked, and there was that tear trickling down his cheek.

“Thought you fucking hated it.” His laugh is wet and there’s more tears joining the one drop that slid down his cheek. “Should’ve heard what Angel said to me last week. Ripped me a new one for being an idiot.” He pauses, tugs Coco closer until Coco’s pressed against his chest. “I like you, like a lot Coco.”

Coco drops his hands and links them behind Armando’s back. “Fuck, Armando.” He surges to his tip toes and presses his lips against his. He stumbles back, fingers curling into Coco’s jacket. They fall back onto the couch, and Coco settles himself, straddling his lap. Coco’s fingers are skirting up his arms and sides up to his cheeks, before he tangles them into his hair.

The kiss feels like it lasts a lifetime. Coco’s fingers are still twisted tight in his hair and his own are curled into the fabric of his jacket when Coco pulls away to take a deep breath.

“I’m not playing around Coco. I wanna do this.” He gasps out. “I mean it, Believe me.” He tucks his fingers under Coco’s jacket, slipping fingers against his undershirt. 

“I believe you.” Coco is back to brushing his fingers over his cheeks. “I want this with you.” He muses his fingers through his hair. 

Armando moves his hands up Coco’s sides, fingertips skirting against the fabric, up and down, touching, satisfying the itch that’s under his skin before he slips his hands underneath the white undershirt that Coco wears.

His hands are always cool, which makes sense because he’s never awake for more than an hour without his airconditioning being cranked up. Coco’s skin prickles under his fingers, goosebumps rising as he rubs his thumbs against him. His hands skirt around Coco’s waist and bump into his gun.

The smile Coco gives him is sheepish before he’s pulling his gun from the waistband of his jeans. He reaches over Armando’s head, and the gun makes a clunk as Coco deposits onto the thin table behind the couch, still in reach but out of the way. 

“You needed that to come see me?” There’s a sparking in Armando’s eyes when he says it. Coco sputters, protests before he’s sitting back onto Armando’s knees and crossing his arms. 

“No.” He’s pouting. Coco fucking Cruz in his lap and is pouting. Armando slides a hand up his chest, before he curls his fingers into the front of Coco’s shirt and drags him down close to him.

“You were worried about me.” He teases softly. The corners of his mouth are turned up into a smile. “Weren’t you?”

“No. No it’s just in case you know? Cause retaliation-”

”Shut up and kiss me Coco.” Coco’s pout curls into a smile and he’s moving, manhandling Armando from the back of the couch so that he’s laying down. Coco slots himself on top of him, settles with his legs straddling the tops of Coco’s thighs and looking down at him with a mega-watt smile on his face. Coco ducks down and catches his lips, nipping and fucking  _ giggling against him. _

His heart is pounding. Coco is giggling while kissing him and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“Is it stupid if I say I think I’m gonna love you, because I, really think I’m going to.” Armando breathes as he’s staring up at Coco.

“Even if it is stupid, I don’t think I’m going to care.” Coco has this wide dopey smile on his face that makes him look young and carefree and his heart hurts from how pretty he looks.

“Shit. Date me you asshole? We can do this whole long distance shit. I’ll come down to see you. Do some shit like Skype dates and all that yeah.” It’s impulsive and Armando knows it, but the look on Coco’s face doesn’t discourage him. Coco doesn’t look like he’s gonna turn him down.

“Only if you let me bring you to the party we’re throwing tonight, as, what, my fucking boyfriend. Yeah I like how that sounds.” Coco is grinning at him and his smile is so damn bright.

“Fuck yes.” His confirmation is all Coco needs to fuck back down and kiss him senseless before he starts stripping him out of his clothes.

“Best boyfriend ever.” He can hear Coco mutter against him as his shirt goes over the back of the couch.

Yeah, Coco might be.

 

* * *

 

 

Armando is wearing more than a few hickeys and marks on his chest and throat when they show up at the garage, surprisingly, hand in hand. EZ is the one who greets them first, before looking smug as can be. Angel comes up next to him with a matching smirk and he narrows his eyes at them both.

“You fuckers told him to come over didn’t you.”

“We may have told him you were packing.” Angel nods over towards Coco who’s looking sheepish.

“You guys are the best friends you know that.” Armando is rolling his eyes when he says it, but his smile is easy and warm.

“Best boyfriend.” Coco corrects. It slaps a blush onto his cheeks. Coco untangles their fingers to slide his arm around his waist instead, tucks himself into his side so that Armando can sling an arm around his shoulders.

“Of course.” Now that they’re actually a thing, and it’s established between them, Coco is always touching him. He either wants to be tucked into his side or have his hand in his. Coco is brushing thighs and shoulders and fingers together and it feels so normal and so right. He definitely likes it. He likes that he can wrap an arm around Coco and he’ll immediately melt into him. He likes that he can be as affectionate as he needs to be (within reason) in public, like when they caught an Uber to the party. He adores it.

They settle down in one of the loveseat together, a beer in Armando’s hand and Coco moving and then draping his legs across the side of the loveseat and putting his head in his lap. Coco’s hair is tousled back, swept back even if a few strands fall over his eyes. He runs his fingers through them, grinning down at Coco in his lap.

It feels good to be surrounded by people. Most his interactions in Santo Padre have been at work, with bouncers and patrons, at the store for groceries or with Angel, EZ and Coco. 

He used to people watch as a kid, before the twins were born and Sverri came into their lives. His Pop would take him to work and he’d watch the people that would come in with their bikes and cars and he’d try to figure out what their jobs were. He does it at work sometimes, when he’s not swamped under orders, tries to guess why people are drinking that night.

This time, Coco is watching him, while he watches everyone else. He feels Coco’s eyes about half an hour into a conversation with EZ about basketball. He becomes aware of Coco shifting in his lap so he can wiggle an arm around his waist and then Coco’s nuzzling his nose into his hip for a moment before he sits up muttering something about needing to piss. He misses Coco’s warmth in his lap but uses the moment to readjust his position in the chair before Coco drops himself back into his lap and uses him as a pillow. 

“Welcome back lovey.” He says it softly, carding his fingers immediately into Coco’s hair. Coco tilts his head back and rubs the back of his head against his thigh and settles down eagerly.

The party isn’t too bad, he’s not a people person but he’s not an introvert either. A beer in hand and Coco is pretty much all he needs to relax and get a good buzz going. He’s pretty happy to be sat there watching people talk and drink. Angel gets caught up with a cute girl and EZ has a beer in hand while he’s leaning against a fold out table.

 


End file.
